


Gotham Spirit

by Tht0neGal666



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Bart Allen-centric, Bart Keeps His Mouth Shut about the future, Bart is a fakey faker, But only if you squint, Gen, It might turn into lowkey Bart/Tim?, No Batman, Tim Smells Bullshit, and a really good actor, kinda upset that he didn't earlier but he was busy, rawr, small au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tht0neGal666/pseuds/Tht0neGal666
Summary: Bart Liked Gotham





	Gotham Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I pinkie promise I'm working on Flock Together guys, but today's just a day for brain vomit, oops

In the future, there is no Gotham City. The Batman had been essential to keeping the city from self destructing, and, with other heroes preoccupied, no one cared enough to stop Gotham from doing in The Batman’s absence. There wasn’t much recorded about the event anywhere that lived to tell the tale. All Bart could uncover about the event was something about a clown threatening to blow the city up in an attempt to flush the ‘hiding bat and his little birds’ out, and actually followed through with the threat when The Batman didn’t show. Any survivors fled to Gotham’s apparent sister city, Bludhaven, and the rest is the future’s-history. 

Bart couldn’t help but find it a little funny. A place that he’d never even been to (despite running all over the damn world), a place he never even really knew about, was one of his favorite places on earth.

Well, ‘favorite’ could be taking it a bit far. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the city. Maybe some twisted form of Nostalgia. It just reminded him of the future. To an extent. There was no evil moded bug tyrannically ruling the place. Well, he hadn’t heard of one, and these were the kind of things he heard about, so, probably not at least. 

But there was something about Gotham that reminded him of his future-past. The beggar saying whatever, doing whatever, being whatever it took to see another day. The look in children’s eyes when he walked by, one far older than normal people thought it had any right to be, the look he learned to keep out of his own eyes. The constant sound of chaos that was nothing more then white noise to jaded passersbys who couldn’t be bothered to help. The innate knowledge that no one was really innocent, that everyone had done Something horrid at some point to stay alive. The way it was second nature again to look over his shoulder, read people before saying a word, talk circles around fights he knew he couldn’t win without risking it all. The reluctance to trust anyone for anything. Refusing to believe anything was really free, cause that belief had screwed you over before. The blotted out skies that made the sun and stars a distant thought at best. The pettiness of doing little things to piss those above you off, not enough to really affect them or make them bother tracing it back, but enough to giggle to yourself in vindictive victory. Everyone making the most of the little nothings they had, because every moment could be their last. 

Seeing the glass half empty, and still daring to live life to the fullest. 

It was all normal back then. It was simple routine and common sense, until it wasn’t. Until he was here, Actually in the past, the plan he hadn’t dared get his hopes fully up for actually pulling through with flying colors. Until his world was turned upside down and bathed in the light of the actual Sun, actual Stars, His feet beating against the ground at speeds he’d always been able but never allowed to use. Until he was in a brighter world where people smiled and trusted and cared for each other easily, where eating and drinking and living came as naturally as breathing the non-polluted air to millions. Until suddenly the underdog had a chance to actually fight the power if they so chose because the power was other people, not some overpowered omniscient alien force.

But, sometimes, it was too much. Here, he always had to wear a mask. They were all convinced he lived in a utopian future. One where you can time travel back a few decades as a tourist, with new slang and circumstances bright enough to produce the impulsive-carless-cheerful-curious-outgoing-easy-to-read Bart Allen. He wasn’t allowed to cherish the little wonders that came with being in the past, because his awe would be suspicious. It was endlessly 

So. sometimes it was to much. Sometimes he needed to disappear for a little while. Go somewhere where he can be himself for a few hours without worrying about, ya know, destroying the world. Or something.  
Today was one of those times. He had spent the day patrolling with Barry, in Central City, on a slow day for even Central City, stopping stupid crimes he almost laughed at. Ok, Did laugh at, but That's ok because laughter was a part of his act anyway. The truth was that it was simply Bizzare to care about someone stealing a car enough to stop them. Heck, that someone could even steal a Car, those hunks of junk that were good for parts if your lucky and explosions if you’re stupid, was funny in itself. That, technically, with how often he stripped the things, he might as well have stolen a car or two himself, so who was he to lock this loser up? 

After that he went to check up on The Blue Beetle, bumping into a few members of the team as well. Garfield had made some stupid reference to song in a movie or something that everyone but Bart understood. Apparently, not ever seeing a ‘Disney Movie’ was a criminal offence in the past, because he was sentenced to an entire night of marathoning the films. He had to admit that they were pretty cool movies, he even liked most of them (wasn’t the biggest fan of Snow White and Pinocchio, but the songs were kinda crash) a lot. He officially decided that Disney Song was his favorite music genre. He learned ‘Hakuna Matata’ immediately and declared it his favourite, though secretly his favorites were ‘A Whole New World’ and ‘One Jump Ahead’. He could admit to Aladdin being his favorite movie, and eagerly did so, and it was around then everyone started falling asleep. He waited for The Blue Beetle to fall asleep, then allowed himself to relax enough to lose consciousness.

So, overall, not a bad day. By any account of the word. But still, a very simple one. And simple days made him antsy. Don’t get him wrong, he never wanted to go back to the future. It was completely moded. But he had grown up there (then?). All the instincts built from a decade and a half of life experience didn’t just disappear. Logically, he knew that it was irrational. There wasn’t a collar around his neck. Blue Beetle wasn’t a threat anymore (yet). There were people he could trust now (probably). He had saved the Flash’s, Barry Allen’s, life. But, really, none of that could ease the tension he felt. The constant anticipation. Waiting for something to go horribly, horribly wrong, because nothing ever went well for him for long, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that would change just cause he was in a different time. It was a fact of life. The sky is blue (grey), Water isn’t blue; it’s clear (contaminated), and wherever (whenever) Bart Allen goes misfortune (disaster) follows. 

The bright ball of gas in the sky was burning his eyes. He had to get away from this simple, monotonous, day-to-day shit and back into the nitty gritty harshness of something that felt less like a fairy tale and more like a reality. The past was just too crash for him sometimes, and he needed something that was less so.

Thus, Gotham City. When he was overwhelmed with how Bright the past was, he could always flee to the darker comfort of Gotham. It was routine by now, and that should probably worry him more.

Throw on a hoodie and jeans. make sure no one snuck any trackers onto him (there never were, these people trusted him now for some reason, but better safe the sorry). check and make sure Jean and Jay were still fast (heh) asleep. Double knot his running shoes and grab a pair of rose-tinted goggles (the ones he had swiped from a street vendor that had left his goods unguarded during his first trip to Gotham. Good times). Stuff a few granola bars in the hoodie pocket, just in case fuel runs low. Pocket the burner phone as well, reluctantly, after debating it, because, loathe to admit it, the world might still need saving.

Don’t bother with money, cause scavenger rights apply again. Don’t bother with the mask (either of them), cause for once it wasn’t needed and cause there's no right to save anyone there. Bring a butterfly knife, just in case.  
Then he’s off. He closes the blinds in his room and leaves through the front door. There’s a note on his bed saying he needed some fresh air if someone did happen to go to his room, though no one had caught him in the act yet and he doubted anyone would soon. He walks for a few blocks, eats a granola bar, goes behind a denny’s, drops the wrapper carelessly on the pavement, and start running.

Running is a lot of fun. He isn’t entirely sure how he went so long not being allowed to. How had he ever lived without the sensation of wind burn for a few seconds when he came to a stop, or the rhythm of his feet on the ground that was too fast to hear but still thrummed through his legs, he’ll never understand. Sure, he had used his speed Before, but never for long, never outside of a life-or-death situation, never without more important things on his mind. He never had gotten the chance to appreciate the journey over the destination, and it was glorious.

Then, before he gave himself the chance to reconsider the wisdom in running straight into the turf of the Birds, he was standing on a Gotham City sidewalk with no cameras and no witnesses that cared or noticed enough to say anything. And, really, what was the point in turning back now? He rolls his eyes at the stupidity of his own reasoning but accepts it anyway, running his hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and flips his eggplant colored hood up as his face morphs into a grimace or a scowl so honest that he almost feels exposed without the cheerful mask. He takes another few breathes, tosses the butterfly knife he brought between his hands absently as he settles into his natural persona. 

Then he’s out of character for the first time in what feels like forever. Then the Gotham-Runaway-Routine ends, and the night is new and exciting and anything can happen. Then he starts walking the dark streets, and the night is his.

Bart wasn’t a good person. He was too jaded to know he was, too smart to think he was, too damned to try and prove he was. Hell, Bart didn’t even really believe that people were Good or Bad. It was such a Black and White ideology, and he was intimately acquainted with Grey.

Still, as he walked down the street and heard the cries of hungry children and grunts of a man getting a lesson beat into him across the street, he had an annoying itch to help. It had always been like that. He always wanted to help people. But he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a hero, not really. He didn’t think he could save everyone, and didn’t always bother to save people, because it wasn’t always really worth it. The itch to help was replaced by a gnawing guilt he didn’t bother pondering cause he didn’t want to, and he continued on his stroll. 

It wasn’t that late. The Garricks went to sleep early, and the murky sky was flashing in that way that meant the sun was just about done setting. He wasn’t entirely sure what time that was in hours, was still getting a grasp of keeping time so precisely in general, but he knew exactly what that meant in a place like this. It was time for all the almost-mostly-decent-and-sane people to find a place to hole up while they waited for the things (people) that went bump in the night to do as they please, and hopefully pass them by. Living in a place like this was all up to luck in the end. 

He shouldn’t really be out here, right now. It was his type, the scrawny little supposedly stupid ones, that made for easy targets. That wasn’t going to stop him from being out, not by a long shot, but it did force him to straighten his posture and sharpen his glare. Any perceived weakness could be fatal depending on who it was happened to be around him, and he had Allen blood running through his veins. He was a born scientist, and he would leave as little to luck as possible.

Course, he wasn’t expecting to get off scot free. He got into at least one altercation every time he visited Gotham. It was the city’s nature, to knock around new meat. She didn’t like intruders, and he wasn’t here often enough for her to have warmed up to him quite yet, so it was par for the course.

So he wasn’t all that surprised when, seemingly out of nowhere, there was a gun stuck to the back of his head. He frowned a bit at the cold metal, taking a deep breath as he felt time slow around him instinctively as he detected danger and responded appropriately. Then the situation caught up to him and he remembered he was in Gotham City, and running was a worst-case-scenario kind of option. He didn’t need any birds freaking out over a new speedster, or, worse, recognizing him. Frown tightening a bit bitterly in annoyance at the aspect of dealing with this like he wasn’t allowed to run again, he refused the urge to scratch his neck and let out a breath as time flowed normally around him again. 

“I'manna make dis easy fa yuh. Give me whatevuh money yuh have, all quiet like, or I’ll shoot yuh.” The mugger slurred in what Bart had come to know as a Jersey accent. Personally it sounded a little over the top to him, but maybe that was just because of how obviously drunk the man was. He smelled like beer, and the barrel against his head was a bit wobbly. Honestly, Bart’s biggest concern at the moment was the guy firing the firearm on accident.

Bart grunted out some noise of agreement and slowly reached for his pocket full of the bills and change he had ‘picked up’ on his walk. He had vague plans to buy himself his first ice cream cone before heading home later, but it wasn’t a big enough loss for him to risk his life or identity by a long shot. Before he had the chance to fork the cash over, he spotted a familiar yellow-red-black. He had barely even noticed before Tim had disarmed the drunken man and flying-kicked him to the ground. 

Fuck.

This was not part of the plan. Bart’s breathing sped up and he looked around for a way to escape without drawing Tim’s attention. Time stopped again and he clenched his fist around the money that was still in his pocket, commanding himself to breathe and think this through. What should he do now? Would Tim recognize him? Should he get back into character?

If he did, and Tim recognized him, then the worst that could happen would be a scolding on going to Gotham. No one would doubt Impulse doing something so rash and stupid, he could easily bullshit a reason and it’d probably be taken at face value. The Garricks would get mad he snuck out, everyone would roll their eyes at his antics because ‘he could have been hurt’, and Crisis averted. With minor annoying side effects, like a closer watch on him at night.

If he did, and Tim Didn’t recognize him, then pretty much the same thing would happen. Maybe Tim is surprised Bart was able to confuse him for a second and grows a bit weary of his acting abilities, maybe it’s a bit harder to fake an excuse because Tim is embarrassed he was fooled the first time and makes up for it by being extra thorough in his scolding and interrogation.

If he didn’t, and Tim recognized him, He’d be in big trouble. Tim would be suspicious of him, meaning at the very least the Bats and birds would be suspicious of him, which was a very bad thing. Tim would think he was hiding something, had a hidden reason to be sneaking around Gotham besides whatever story he spun. He was a good actor, a damn good actor in fact, but he wasn’t entirely confident how his act would hold up under the close scrutiny of the worlds greatest detectives. He’d like to say he wouldn’t crack over something so stupid, but he wasn’t quite sure.

If he didn’t, and Tim didn’t recognize him, life would be easier for everyone. He plays Common Gotham Street Rat, begrudgingly thanks Tim, half-heartedly promises to stay safe, and they both go about their days. He gets that Icecream he was thinking about, and he gets filed away as another statistic in the Boy Wonder’s mind. He remembers to say out of crime alley, goddamn it, cause the dark vigilanties are literally Always monitoring the place. 

Needless to say, he was feeling the mode. He just wanted some fucking ice cream.

It occurred to him that he could try leaving. Try to slip away without Robin noticing him. He quickly dismissed the idea, however. The bird was more observant than that, so his only real opportunity would be speeding, and That was out of the question. His options were limited enough to make him a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to freak him out, so that was good. And he had all the time he wanted to think it through, given his ability to change how time moves, relative to himself.

But it really wasn’t in his nature to just slow down and think. Maybe he was able to pretend it was for years, but he had no other choice. Right here, right now, even in the near-apocalyptic state of Gotham, his body couldn’t be convinced that going so slow was really needed. So instead, he snapped back into real time (which still felt dreadfully slow), staring wide eyed at Robin and not really decided on what his best option was. Bullshit speed force. 

“Bart?” Robin asks, bewildered, after barely a second of staring. Well. That was that solved. Hopefully he’d pull off his usual charm. He wasn’t entirely sure he could, now he thought of it. He was just..so tired.

“Uh, Robin! Super crash to see ya, that could’ve gotten nasty.” Bart replied with a dumb smile plastered on, reaching his arm up to scratch his back and feign embarrassment. This might work.

Robins eye-things narrowed. It did not work. He was moded.

“What are you doing in Gotham? Dressed in civvies? It’s dangerous.” and batman doesn’t like metas in Gotham goes unsaid, just like but Batman isn’t here. Bart bites the inside of his cheek. So not crash.

“Well, I thought I’d check this place out. See all the hubbub. I’ve never been to Gotham before.” He admitted sheepishly, laughing a little. It was true. Sure, Robin would interpret it as he simply didn’t go and not that he couldn’t go, but the point standard.

“Well, then maybe I should give you a tour then. It’s the polite thing to do.” Robin said a bit too easily with a grin that seemed to scream ‘two can play this game’, and Bart almost Ran.

“That’d be great! Can we get ice cream?” He didn’t run. Instead, he followed Robin, like a lamb to the slaughter.


End file.
